Vignettes
by Zwerven
Summary: A short collection of drabbles centering around the Netherlands/Estonia. Rated T for some minor language, blood, drug references and sexual talk. Now in progress again with drabbles in the Netherlands' point of view.
1. Spring

I now present more the Netherlands/Estonia in the form of short vignettes/drabbles, whatever you want to call them. Each little one is 200 words a piece and from Estonia's point of view. Enjoy ;w;

* * *

**I**

"I want to hear you sing."

With a frown, I look at him as if he's insane. With a question like that, he may as well be. There's a look in his eyes stating he won't take no for an answer. His eyes are blue, the same pale cornflower blue that I've grown so accustom to staring into.

"I don't sing alone." It's the closest to a 'no' that I can give him. It serves it's purpose because the next minute he's laughing, shaking his head as I wrap my arms over my chest. Even my own frown turns into a small smile, and I try to figure out what's so amusing.

"Well, I don't know any songs."

He sits back in his chair, hand heading towards the cigarette still held upright against the side of an ashtray.

Glancing away, I look out from the terrace to the road. It was a lovely little café, but we'd have to be on the move soon enough. The smell of rain carried on the wind, even though the sky was still pale and light.

"I'll teach you sometime, then."

It seems as if my response finally satisfied him.

**II**

It's spring and everything is muddy and wet. This season, I absolutely hate it. Back home there wouldn't be that much of a change, just the rain and everything thawing out, but here in Amsterdam...

"What's your favorite season?"

It's a question out of nowhere as we walk side by side, an umbrella sheltering us.

The loud dripping of the rain as it cascades down the fabric is enough to hurt my ears.

Summer.

Back home, everything is still so cool in the summer. It's the time when people go out into the country, visit lakes, and you can hear the cries of insects.

He stops and I almost don't follow him in time enough to stay under the shelter. He crouches down and I reluctantly follow, even though I can feel the rain begin to soak my pant legs.

"Mine's spring."

Leaning over a planter along the road, he momentarily shields some flowers. The tulips are in a rainbow of colors, and he reaches out and grabs a stem. Pinching it he picks it away, and he turns to offer it to me.

It's yellow and soft, droplets still sticking to the petals.

"...Mine is too."

**III**

Sitting through photographs and sorting them together as such a dreary task for a Sunday afternoon.

I can remember the first time I ever saw a camera. It was daunting, those days I was about as far away from knowing anything about technology as a person could be. It's only been the past few years that nations like us have been advised to not get photographed too often.

You don't want memories that will last through hundreds of years available to everyone.

Pictures of me with my two siblings and pictures of him with his two siblings seem to be our main concern.

Family is important, especially since neither of us live with our siblings anymore.

"Huh?" He mumbles and I turn my head. In his hand is a photo of himself, looking off-camera at something while a multitude of different colored lights bathe his skin. I begin to smile. "Where did this one come from?"

"When you took me to that infernal bar." I grab the photograph away from him, tucking it under the flimsy cellophane sleeve of my own photo album.

Softly, I continued.

"It was the night I fell in love with you."

**IV**

"Hallo."

"Tere."

"Hoe gaat het?"

"Kuidas sul läheb?"

"Ik ben oké."

"Olen trahvi."

"Tot ziens."

"Head aega."

Hello, how are you, I'm fine, good bye... All these things, they sounded so different between the two of us.

He paused and I gave a small grin, watching that absolutely perplexed look cross his features.

"Is that even a language you speak?"

"Of course it is. And what about you? Is that a language or just a brutish attempt of speaking German?"

That definitely got a rise out of him, and his lips turned down into a slight snarl. With a small smirk, I placed my hands on his face, pulling him down just enough to kiss him.

"Ma armastan sind."

It took him a moment before he reluctantly calmed down, his eyebrows and muscles relaxing with a soft exhale.

"Ik hou van je."

They still sounded absolutely nothing alike. Maybe we'd never find a single similarity between our native tongues, but maybe after all there was no need to. In every language, whether it was a smile or a frown or just a kiss, it all meant the same.

**V**

"Tell me a story."

He cocks an eyebrow, looking down at me while I'm busy tucked comfortably in his arm.

"Once upon a time..."

With that, I give him a jab to the ribs. Before I can ask if he absolutely has to act like a smartass, a soft chuckle escapes his lips and I look up at him expectantly.

"Fine. Give me a moment."

The room is a bit too warm when nestled against another, but there's nowhere else I'd rather uncomfortable at.

"There was a boy who liked cheese..."

"Cheese?"

"Yes. Loved it. Once during the night, he heard voices beckoning him with promises of cheese. He followed them into the forest, and found faeries dancing around a fire."

I frowned.

"They gave him all the cheese he could want. They made him keep eating and eating until he couldn't anymore, and then made him still eat until he screamed, and they thought he was singing because they'd never heard a human in pain."

At this point, I was absolutely dumbfounded at his story.

"And then he woke up."

"...You're terrible at this."

"Precisely. So never ask again."

**VI**

Whenever he comes home with his fingers dusted with dirt, stuck under his fingernails, and smudged on his pants and forehead, I never have to ask where he's been.

It's adorable in a way how rugged he looks, sweat still sticking to his brow.

"You'll get sunburned one of these days," I warn him. "You really should be more careful."

"I'm sorry I don't have the delicate pale skin of a northerner. I don't burn, I tan."

"Well, I just stay out of the sun entirely. Problem solved." Grabbing a paper towel from the kitchen, I wet it in the sink and return to him. It's almost comical how we've fallen into such a marital routine: winter and spring spent in Amsterdam and summer and autumn in Tallinn.

And the slight annoyance that I feel realizing he's dirtied the carpet only solidifies it.

Pressing the towel to his face, I try to remove most of the dirt.

"Go take a shower. I'll run out and get something for dinner."

All I know is that there's no way to stay angry at such a tough seeming man who spends his days off taking care of gardens.

**VII**

Whenever I bleed, it's always seemed to run out of my body like water.

And it's quickly soaking the cloth that he presses to my hand. He's roughly holding my hand, raising it just above my heart.

It's as if he doesn't mind that his shoes are crunching on the broken glass or his white sleeves are speckled red.

"_Verdomme,_ you tell me to watch out and then you go..." The frustrated mumbles keep coming, and my throat is dry from how angry he sounds.

When I finally am adventurous enough to look at him, it surprises me.

He looks more worried then I do. His eyes are unsettling, his brow furrowed as he presses the white cloth harder against the wound. Trying to stop the bleeding with pressure with an already soaked cloth isn't helpful, at this point it's just squeezing blood between his fingers.

Somehow I feel like he won't be trusting me enough to do dishes again for a while.

"It'll be fine, it's not that bad..."

Peeling away the towel to look, he doesn't seem to note how shallow the cut actually is.

"You get hurt like this again and I'll kill you."

**VIII**

"It's from the Dutch Golden Age."

The great amount of artists and sculptors and writers to come from his home makes me a bit envious sometimes. Everyone has heard of Rembrandt, Van Gogh, Escher...

"Did you know him?" I gesture to the painting. The label under it clearly states it as a Rembrandt, the subject matter a fair-haired lady lifting her dress as she wades through water.

"I knew her more than I knew him."

"Who was she?" His arms find their way around my waist from behind, and I can almost feel the cocky grin as it spreads across his face.

"Rembrandt's wife."

My expression falls flat, and I almost stumble as he pulls me closer to him.

"You didn't..."

"No, I didn't. You don't think I know every famous person who originated here though, do you?"

"No... Well, I knew Johann Köler... And Friedrich Kreutzwald..."

I sigh when the inevitable response comes.

"Who?"

"See, no one ever knows who they were."

He drags me along to the next painting. I decide that when we get home I'll have to give him a crash course in my history again.

**IX**

"What is this?" As he asks he's dipping his fork across the red berry mixture, watching as it glides across the pancake.

"Red currant kissell. I made it yesterday..."

There's a smile growing across his lips and I'm glad for that. He gathers a bit on his fork, taking it to his lips to taste.

"I like red currants." He murmurs the remark before having a taste, nodding his head in approval before trying a bit of it with the pancake. I'm glad it seems to meet his approval, few of the things that I cook from back home ever do. Whenever he finds out what the ingredients are of things I cook he says he regrets eating them.

"You're sure it's just red currants?"

"Red currants, potato starch, water, and sugar."

"No blood or anything, right?"

"Nope." I roll my eyes slightly, grabbing my cup of coffee to quietly sip.

"It reminds me of something I had at Denmark's once.." I look at him as he struggles to remember.

"Rod.. Red... ...Raw... ...Rød..."

I smile, waiting for him to give up pronouncing it.

"Rødgrød med fløde?"

"...Right, that."

**X**

It's almost the end of spring. All of our personal things are packed up in boxes, waiting for us to one day soon move on to Tallinn. He lets me lay across him on the couch as I tap away at the laptop on my lap, resting my head against his lap.

One of his hands stroked through my hair idly, and the other held a book.

"I wonder..." I murmured, turning to look up at him. "When my country will be as open as yours."

The article I was reading was just about homosexuality in the Netherlands, how people shouldn't even bat an eye at it. Combined with his other more... unique tastes...

"They will, one day."

"You think so? Well, it would be nice to be able to get married one day..."

I didn't even realize the implications of that sentence before saying it. Once it hits me I quietly go back to typing, feeling as his hand pauses in my hair.

"Well, one day, when Estonia legalizes it..." Tilting my head back to look up at him, he's busy staring off at something else. "It _would_ be nice."

We both smiled.

* * *

III: I always figured that nations would have the common sense to try and not be photographed (unless with each other) for well, the fact they're immortal and it could cause pesky little oopses a hundred years down the road and they still are arounddd.

IV: 'Hello', 'how are you', 'I am fine', 'good bye', and then 'I love you' all translated in Dutch and Estonian.

V: I looked up Dutch faerie tales and swear to God that's an actual one I found e_e;;

VII: Verdomme means something akin to 'dammit'. |D;

VIII: Johann Köler was a very famous Estonian painter, and Friedrich Kreutzwald was a famous Estonian poet known for being the one to write their national epic.

IX: Say 'rødgrød med fløde'. Congratulations, unless you speak fluent Danish or study it heavily, you've just said it wrong. It's red berries and cream. Kissell is... a type of berry, potato starch, water and sugar. |D;


	2. Summer

Another collection of vignettes set in summer. Can't promise I'll make a complete year out of these things, but. Here ya go. Still Estonia's POV, still 200 words each.

* * *

**I**

"I don't even know why you had the gall to do such a stupid thing! You're lucky that you were coming here with me because quite honestly, if you'd been here for a meeting or something, they probably would have thrown you right back out of the country and never allowed you entrance again! And really, I don't appreciate people seeing you and then seeing me and assuming..."

I took a deep breath, exhaling. Turning back around to glare at him, I watched as he shuffled through his luggage.

A few grams lighter of illicit substances and he didn't seem bothered.

"Are you even listening to me?"

He pulled out a cigarette case from his luggage. Striding over to him, my face twisted in disbelief as he opened it to expose a small clear bag filled with small shredded green leaves...

"You... ...You didn't! How could you?"

"Never put all your eggs in one basket." He set the bag on the bed, taking out a cigarette paper. "Want one?"

"...You get caught at customs with drugs in your pockets and you still smuggle some in. That's..."

I didn't even know the word for it.

**II**

"Hautatud magushapu värskekapsas vorsitedga."

"What the hell?"

As he curses, I give a small chuckle. He was never one much for cooking, when we first met he was often going out every day to eat instead. He'd comfortably fallen into the modern conveniences of today, while I always cooked. It was nice to go out once in a while, but when we stayed home it was usually him fretting over what I had prepared.

"It's cabbage and sausage, nothing that different."

"Blood sausage?" He was never too keen on eating anything that included blood, and to comfort him I shook my head.

"Bratwurst and kielbasa. We're in Tallinn, you promised you'd eat Estonian food here."

"Doesn't sound very Estonian to me."

"Well, it is. Eat up."

He still looks full of distrust. You serve someone calf's liver pâté just once and then they demand to always know everything included...

"Tomorrow, we can go out somewhere for dinner."

Reluctantly he starts trying the cabbage, and I wait until he tries some sausage to begin eating as well.

"I'll take you out for some nice Finnish food."

"You're trying to starve me."

**III**

He notices the way that my gaze lingers on the purple banknotes as I receive them before thanking the teller before hurrying off with him.

"Gonna miss it?"

Of course I'd miss seeing the familiar faces of Carl Jakobson and Anton Tammsaare, barn swallows and the Tamme-Lauri oak, all these...

Starting January first, I'll probably never see them again. Instead of the Estonian krooni, I'll be using the same coin and banknotes as many of my fellow EU members.

I've always considered myself to be a very forward minding person, but there's just something so sentimental I feel that I'll miss about it. I was lucky to be approved to use the euro. My brothers haven't even been cleared for that yet. There's still a part of me afraid it'll just be taking a part of my national identity away though...

"Yeah... But it's for the best."

"I still remember the guilder. It'll take awhile, but you'll get used to the euro."

"Eventually. It'd be nice to not have to worry about changing currencies when we go back to Netherlands..."

"See, that's thinking positive."

I wrap an arm around his, and we walk quietly together.

**IV**

Her name is Erida, and I don't think she's my biggest fan.

But he confided in me once that he could never date someone she didn't approve of. That fact makes me slightly frustrated as I lay on the grass on my stomach, staring at her beady eyes.

She's not happy being here, there isn't as much sun as there would be for her back at her home. I could give her all the grass in my country and she wouldn't utter a thanks.

"Listen, you little runt. When he comes back, I don't want to hear any complaints out of you."

She's too busy nibbling away on a bright orange carrot to want to hear.

"You think just because you're cute I have to like you? Think again."

I don't have a problem with her, it's more that I just want her to know who is really in control.

"I'll feed you to my sheep if you get out of line."

Then that it seems the sun suddenly has gone overcast, and there's a shadow over us. Glancing up, I give him a strained smile.

"Why are you harassing my rabbit?"

"She started it."

**V**

The coffee ice cream is so much sweeter than I'd ever enjoy my coffee to be. But I keep stealing a lick here and there off of his ice cream cone, something he gives me the occasional glare for doing.

I never really had a romantic partner before, and I was thankful he seemed to understand me. It was my idea of being playful, smiling at him as I missed the ice cream on purpose and ran my tongue along his lips. After pulling the cone away, he pressed his frozen lips against mine.

"Little boys shouldn't be having any alcohol."

"What?"

My cheeks were burning hot, but I couldn't feel any telltale burning in my throat from alcohol.

"Coffee ice cream with Vana Tallinn ripple. That's what they told me it was."

With a laugh, I lowered my head to rest against his shoulder. Breathing cool air across his neck, I come up with a way to blame him for letting me have some of the sweet tasting liquor.

"You should have brought me a cone too, then."

"Don't know what flavor you would like."

I kissed his warm neck gently.

"Dutch flavor."

**VI**

I'm entirely unprepared for it the day he walks up to me and throws a magazine on top of my laptop, right under my nose.

Maybe he found it buried in my closet somewhere, or maybe even it was tucked under my mattress. But it's at least six years old, and that much I can tell without looking because we've been dating five and a half and there's no way that I bought something like it while with him.

There's a girl on the cover, buxom and and smiling, inviting whoever sees it to open the pages and see what else she has to offer.

I almost can't control the urge to laugh.

"What is this?"

A small grin breaks out on my face as I set my laptop to the side, flipping through some of the pages.

He doesn't look amused.

"Adult entertainment."

He snatches the magazine right back from me, an annoyed scowl on his face. Standing up, I give him a slight challenging look.

"Are you implying you never looked at porn before we got together?"

The scowl disappears, and he furrows his brows as he looks away.

"I had thought as much."

**VII**

As gentle of a side that he hides, he's still a rather rough lover.

When his hands coast across my skin there's never any finesse. He claws and digs his fingers against me, leaving my body eventually littered with bruises that make me look like a victim. Even his kisses end blood-touched, and he has a fondness for being bit and biting that often ends with me being sore.

And he has no problems in dragging my body around to wherever he wants it.

Sometimes, I find myself overly conflicted about our so called 'love making'.

One night when I ask him to try and be gentle, he's at a lost of what to do.

It's probably a testament to how he feels that he tries, though. He tries and he fails miserably because everything he does feels so clumsy and so unsure.

He's slow and it's painful, not because the passion is being ignored, but because he seems entirely clueless.

After a few minutes of writhing uneventfully under him, it's clear that it's not working out.

"Forget I suggested anything."

I grab his upper arms and flip him over, straddling his waist.

"Let's just try this again."

**VIII**

"I think it's about time to breed Erida."

He's petting the small little fluff ball in his lap, and I rest against him quietly. She looks up at me uneasily when my hand joins his, rubbing two fingers against her fur.

"Do you know anything about breeding rabbits?"

I close my eyes, listening to his soft mumble of 'yeah'. Placing my hand down against his lap, I felt almost relaxed enough to sleep.

"And why would you need to do that?"

"Before she gets too old. I've had a rabbit since I was a teenager. Since I learned how to breed them... She originated from one of my favorites."

Wearily directing my gaze towards Erida again, she quickly nuzzles against his stomach.

"How long do they usually live?"

"About five years... One lived nine though. I raise them until they're a few weeks old, pick one, and sell the rest."

"Are they always named the same?" The concept is a bit fascinating to me, even though he speaks about it with the casual disinterest of someone who has been doing this for decades upon decades.

"Yeah."

I wondered what number was she.

**IX**

Even in summer, a sauna was the most relaxing thing ever.

I don't think that he's really that keen on the idea of sitting inside a place that's over 80°c when it's 27°c out. After it's amply heated inside, we head in. The steam gives a pretty heavy hit, but I know that in a few moments everything will be relaxing. I unwrap the towel from around my waist and set it down, taking a seat and beckoning him

There's a red flush on his face and I don't think it's from the heat. When he sits down, towel still around his waist, I look up at him with bleary eyesight from a lack of glasses.

"See? Doesn't this feel nice?"

Sweat is already forming a sheen over our skin when I reach down to remove his towel, letting it fall off his hips.

He lets his hand flit on my knee, and I allow it for the meantime. That is, until it starts sliding up my leg, getting closer to a certain place...

"Hey!" I hiss, scooting away from him. He looks a bit confused and I just laugh. "A sauna isn't the place for that."

**X**

"My brothers will be joining us for dinner."

The slight panic on his face is justified. I can't think of anyone who likes surprise dinner guests, but to my defense I didn't know until today that they were in town.

"So where do I go then?"

I realize why he's worried, and it makes sense.

"You don't have to go anywhere. I think they'd be more than happy to meet you in a more informal setting."

Just over half a decade of dating and with frequent back and forth commute, it's really something to show how close we aren't to our family since they're not too sure on our relationship. They figured it out that we see each other, but never thought too much.

He groans.

"I'm sure they'd be nothing but happy for us."

But he likes to pretend it's no big deal, as if he'd cross four different countries and travel 1455 kilometers for anyone.

"Next you'll be asking me to come out to my sis."

It sounds like a comedy and a tragedy all wrapped into one to me.

"She doesn't know you're gay?"

"Whatever. Let's get takeout for dinner."

* * *

No notes really about this one, except III. Estonia's converting to the euro soon enough, which the Netherlands has already used for a few years. Their previous currency was the guilder, and Estonia just rambles off some symbolic things found on krooni.

Till next time, or not. \o/


	3. Autumn

Yay, more? \o/ Thanks to everyone reading this and all =w=;

And as a small note regarding a review, ahh, I'm aware that Finnish food isn't really that bad. But it generally has sort of bad connotations to it by non-northern Europeans, the same way it's a sort of wide misconception that Estonian food is bland. Even though granted they do have some rather odd ingredients sometimes... what cultures cuisine doesn't?

11! vignettes this time. bonus that isn't quite relevant to the main... more or less story is included. but still all 200 words, in Estonia's POV, and yep.

* * *

**I**

Even though autumn has come now, it's still so very warm.

He's a jerk for calling me a jerk after I called him one.

Every couple isn't above their squabbles and fights, I've figured that from books and movies and television. But it still hurts so damn much when he gets angry, although it probably hurt my poor punched-in wall more.

When he yelled he was going back to Amsterdam, and I told him to go ahead and go, he should have known that really meant stay.

I just can't help feeling angry and frustrated.

He waltzes back in one day, and I resist the urge to yell at him. Throwing his keys down on the nearby counter, he walks over to Erida's cage. It's as if he fears I haven't been taking care of that damn animal the whole time.

"What's for dinner?"

"Smelt."

After my caustic comment, he walks over to me. I know he'll just expect for me to apologize, and I'll give in and do it because I'm always the one to. But I try to stand my ground, arms crossed against my chest.

"I'm sorry. Forgive me?"

I sigh and hug him.

**II**

He wears the color orange so well. Before him, I wasn't partial to it at all. Now it's become my favorite.

When a leaf gracefully floated down from a breeze and onto his sweater, it brought a smile as I noticed how the delicate leaf was almost the same exact color.

"Hey, look." He hadn't even noticed the leaf fall on him, but I showed it to him proudly. "Isn't it nice?"

Holding it out by the stem to him, I watched his eyes light up. He took it from my fingers gently, twirling it and inspecting it. When he wants, he can look so studious and thoughtful. He kissed the leaf gently, and I took a deep breath as he placed the leaf on the top of my head.

I try to look up and it just floats back down.

It's always nice to see him in such a good mood. He catches it again and when it crumbles he drops it, placing his arm around my shoulders. It may not be full of tulips but my land has plenty of things to offer as well.

"We should always come out this way. It's so peaceful..."

**III**

When we first started to date, all he knew was how to check his email. Now it's like he's a regular computer genius, even though he can't match my typing speed. We spent the evening snuggled close to each other, tangled in wires and melting under the heat our laptops were putting out.

He curses under his breath at something and I look up. When he shuts his laptop lid he casts it aside, and I sit up straight to look over at it.

"Stupid thing froze again." That's all he mutters before looking at me, as if he expected complaining at me would fix it again.

"What were you doing?"

"Studying."

It threw me off. Nations... we never studied really. Our version of studying was memorizing things in manilla folders handed to us so we could ramble off petty facts at each other. Pushing my own laptop away, I blink and curl into him.

"Studying what?"

He's entirely quiet for a moment.

"Estonian."

The soft mutter brought a smile to my lips and I pulled myself up on his lap, resting down against him. For this purpose at least, I could best any computer.

**IV**

"Your hair's getting long."

He says it almost as if I didn't know. I could just barely see the blonde strands that would graze against the top of my glasses. There was just too many things to do lately, too many places to go and to many people to deal with to keep up with such little details.

His hands on my cheeks, I don't think anything of it really. Not even when he's lifting his hands and they brush through my bangs, lifting them off my forehead. I stare at him steadily for a moment, silent as he leans in and presses his lips against my forehead.

"Looks kind of cute."

Then his hands are exploring how my hair is just to long to fit above my ears, and I can almost feel the red rise on my cheeks.

"If you grow it a little longer we could put a ribbon in it..."

The way that when he speaks like he's serious of the idea makes me push his hands away. His reputation for liking people a bit younger than someone his age probably should followed him.

"I'll go ahead and get a haircut tomorrow."

**V**

"Do you think aliens exist?"

For someone who was often labeled a nerd like I was, it only rounded out the stereotype a bit more that I actually had marginal interest in such things. Without skipping a beat, he responded, a grunt of "nee" without even turning away from the television.

"What if they do exist, though? What if aliens are watching us right now, cataloging our every move so they can study us and come and take over earth because their own planet is dying?"

He already looks weary, but when his eyes flicker to glance at me a small smirk grows on his lips.

"Why don't we give them an exhibit on human reproduction tactics then?"

"Because we're both men, and men don't reproduce with each other."

Despite my voice sounding flat and dry, he leans over the couch to grab around my hips and pull me closer. There's hardly any time to react before he's pulling me over his lap and then climbing on top of my body, sounding a little too excited when he speaks again.

"We have to, though! It's for _science._"

With a groan I push him away.

**VI**

Few things in autumn felt better than resting against another warm body and sipping hot chocolate or coffee together. His sweater was brown and scratchy against my cheek, but I ignored the less than pleasant feeling as my hands fit around the thermos filled with rich hot chocolate. With our backs against a tree trunk, we sat together.

"Do you ever think about what everyone else would think?"

His eyes slightly red, he glanced down at me just after I'd looked up. A small bit of brown foam from the drink clung around his lips, and I waited patiently as he licked it off.

"About what?"

"Our relationship." It wasn't a secret we tried to hide, but we never announced it around to everyone. All considered we were just a very conservative couple, keeping our business to ourselves. There was no telling how many of our coworkers whispered about us or knew anything.

"Nah. Don't care what they think." After a quiet moment, he added, "It's thicker back home..."

"I guess that's best... ...Huh?..."

"Hot chocolate."

Only a month before we head back... "I'd love to try some next time we're there."

**VII**

He's worming around on my couch with a flushed face. Yesterday when he woke up he was feeling a bit under the weather, and now it seems he's developed a cold.

I've never seen him sick before. He's one of the most financially well off countries, so it worries me hearing him coughing with a tissue clutched in his fingers. As much as he tries to play it off as being nothing, I can hear the slight gasps of exhaustion when he's up and walking around.

"Do you need anything while I'm out?"

Kneeling down beside the couch, I wait until he turns over to look at me. He looks rather pathetic as I press the back of my hand against his forehead. Even though he shakes his head, he grabs my hand, a contemplative look falling over his features.

"It's raining, you'll get sick too..."

Glancing over to the window, I sighed softly as his hand slowly enveloped mine.

He must have been feeling slightly delirious; more sensitive to the fact it was raining in Amsterdam since outside here in Tallinn it was sunny.

I lean against the couch, closing my eyes.

"I'll go tomorrow then."

**VIII**

"I thought you said you don't sing alone."

When arms are wrapped around me from behind, I can't help but to take notice and try to turn around. His grip is firm around my waist as he stares at me silent and strong. My lips that kept rambling off some old folksong in a low tone slowly come to a halt.

"Well, but when nobody's around..."

I hadn't noticed his return, but as I glance back I see the shopping bags discarded by the door. His pale blue eyes narrow, almost as if he's been cheated out of something.

"It helps the cleaning go by quicker. I'd do it at Ivan's whenever I was stuck with chores and he wasn't around."

It was sort of sad, but, being a former soviet union country meant if you mentioned Russia in absolutely any way someone would instantly be filled with sympathy. I always loved him because he never was. He'd been just as trapped for a while in the war.

"Come on. I want to hear you."

His lips touch the back of my neck, and I feel nervousness starting to rise.

"Tonight, maybe."

Maybe he'd forget.

**IX**

"Sing."

I really don't understand this man's fascination with song. Even if my people were rather renowned for it, doesn't even mean that I was able to. Yet he was no longer asking questions, the single word a grunting command as his lips nip at my throat.

My back was against our bed, knuckles white as they clutch into blue sheets.

"B-but..."

"_Sing._"

He was already marring my neck enough that I knew I'd have to wear a scarf. Shuddering, I wrapped one arm around him.

"M-mijn Schilt ende betrouwen..."

He wasn't stopping his assault at all, continuing to do things that made my body shutter and my eyes screw tightly shut as I continued shakily onwards in my song.

"Sijt ghy, o Godt mijn Heer, Op u soo wil ick bouwen verlaet mij nimmermeer..."

It was less of a song rather than just trying not to fuck up. It threw him in a fervor at least, dull nails digging sharply into my skin.

"Dat ick doch vroom mach blijven, v dienaer taller stondt, die Tyranny verdrijven, die my mijn hert doorwondt.."

It's a good thing I had nothing else to do this weekend.

**X**

Our flight had been delayed from bad weather. It was unfortunate, but when you travel so frequently as he does you get used to it. Though I'd traveled plenty, it only began to be frequent around 1991. I'd never been anywhere in Asia besides China before visiting places representing myself after that year with other nations.

Over so many centuries and decades and years, I'd almost become _too_ comfortable staying within the confines of northern Europe.

Now even Aruba and the Antilles were no big mystery to me.

Sitting in cold airports as cloudy skies mocked us seemed about as fun to me as listening to an entire meeting of Ludwig doing nothing but rambling about the latest exact design specifications of a Volkswagen or Audi.

He was ever calm with that look on his face stating that it'd be a cold day in hell before he let a little bad weather annoy him. I grumbled about like a child though, squirming every other minute and going through ten different facial expressions a minute. All until his hand clamped down on mine, and I sighed deeply.

"Sorry."

"Just calm down. Everything will be fixed before you know it."

* * *

IX - The song he's singing is a stanza from the Dutch national anthem.

The bonus below isn't really with the same mindset as the rest of the drabbles have been. It's just an idea I couldn't escape how the Netherlands' character is usually thought to be a heavy drug user for the hell of it and my own headcanon Estonia may get into the vodka a bit too much. but I've had some people like it, so... enjoy? |D;

**(kind of nonrelative) bonus**

If anything, he's the patron saint of illicit drugs while I play the role of his alcoholic angel underneath his body still gleaming with sweat.

Yet I never mind the fine white powder that sometimes stubbornly sticks under his nose, nor the gnarled brown lumps from too many intravenous injections. There's something beautiful when he's tragic and broken, when he's unable to decide whether he's happy or if the shadows are out to get him.

The angels I remember from the holy book I was forced to read weren't saints, which is my excuse for why I don't stop him. They were vindictive warriors, something I can relate to every time that I wrangle my alcohol out of his hands as he tries to play keep-away. It's why he's the saint, even with all the long angry scratch marks up and down his skin from invisible bugs.

"Hey... you still there?"

With his murmured comment I look up, my head swimming and my stomach rotten with vodka still. His glazed over eyes stare down at my dull ones just as my lips twitch into a smirk.

"Did I say you should stop fucking me?"

We deserved each other.


	4. Winter

oioioi. what's this. winter. fuck yeah. ANYWAYS so I guess this kind of... ends the obligatory chapters I felt like I had to write. But it was fun while it lasted! I really do love this pairing so burningggggly much still. hell, if I ever find anyone else writing/drawing them I'll give off my firstborn. IN THE MEAN TIME rest assured I'll be around polluting the interwebs with my Dutch and Estonian love.

10 vignettes, 200 words each, Estonia's POV. again.

if.. this does get around to being continued on. no promises that it will. But I'll probably cycle through another year but from the Netherlands' point of view. Who knows what the future holds.

* * *

**I**

"Romance is stupid."

I peered over from the top of my book at him, snuggling in a bit closer to his side. We're sitting side by side in bed, against the headboard, and he's flipping through a book as well. The difference is, he's looking obviously displeased with whatever the hell he's reading. I slowly begin to smile.

"Is it? "

"Fuck... I don't need to bring you flowers or chocolate all the time just to let you know I'm 'thinking of you'. And we don't need to go on long walks or have a getaway for 'just the two of us'. It's stupid."

His brow is furrowed in concentration, lips twitched downward into the slightest disapproving scowl.

"But you hold my hand everywhere we go. Isn't that romantic?"

It was true in Amsterdam, at least. It had even been slightly infuriating when he started, but I got used to having someone's hand on mine.

"So you don't wander off and get lost and end up in the red light district again."

Oh. Now that I thought back, that_ had_ happened. It was terrifying situation at the time, too.

He seemed like a hypocrite though.

**II**

The problem with being immortal is eventually you get tired and you believe you've already done everything. It's then that you realize and consider the only thing you haven't done is die properly.

It was that miserable mood I was in when he approached me, placing a hand on my shoulder as I stared out the window. Looking down at me, he didn't speak. I wondered if this same morbid curiosity overcame other nations, specifically him, but I didn't dare ask.

"How was the meeting?"

He still attended his own country's political dealings—although mostly only when _he_ felt like it—as I was expected to travel back home for any of my own. The thing of it is, it left me time alone.

"Boring without you."

Of course it was. After I nodded, I sighed and leaned back, reaching up to hold onto his hand with one of my own. He wraps both of his arms around my shoulders instead, and when he leans down and sets his chin on the top of my head, I give a soft sigh.

"I missed you..."

"I'm here now."

It was true. Maybe that was enough to make everything better.

**III**

I remember for weeks being tormented over the decision.

To say 'I love you' or to let it go unsaid. Already spending time with him and my life with him had been the best times of my life. Even though he was quiet and stoic most of the time, I knew he felt the same kind of bond with me as I did with him... Otherwise, he would of said something and left me alone.

Every time I looked at him and I tried to have the words leave my mouth, I'd just freeze and go entirely quiet though. He'd give me a funny look and then drag me on to continue whatever we were doing, where I'd just sigh and lament my inability to express emotion through words.

When it did happen, it happened just when we were as natural as we are now. Side by side and curled into each other, his face nestled against my body as I kiss his hair, this is almost exactly like we were for the first time when I mumbled 'I love you' barely audibly but somehow he still caught it.

This time, he mumbles it first.

No sound could be sweeter.

**IV**

Both of our birthdays are in the winter months, and we're both very aware of this sneaking back and forth we have to do as a result. Most nations don't even bother celebrating birthdays anymore, unless they're close with their larger family, or, like us, if they have a lover where they can smile and fawn over a cake and a present with.

Strangely enough he's not that big of a fan of chocolate. Not for cakes anyways. The icing is fine, but the actual main event needs to be something else. This year, I just tried to prepare him a small little apple cake that he and I could enjoy before he headed out to go drinking with his friends.

When I hand him his present, a nice and expensive watch, he stared at it for a few minutes before I reached over to grab it and place it around his wrist. As with every year, he thanks me with a kiss and a tiny rare smile before then asking if I'd like to go drinking with him. Politely declining, I let him know that tonight is his night.

When February comes, we'll hide away together under our covers.

**V**

I hate to think sometimes that there are things that can pull us away from each other and we'd have no control over it. What if one day, we were taken and never be allowed to see one another again?

I've had nightmares before of us as lovers before the second world war. How we would have been torn back and forth between others and then I wake up, covered in a thin layer of sweat with a concerned lover beside me.

It's just useless paranoia, that much I know. I'm under no danger of losing him but sometimes my mind just won't stop. Things are relatively peaceful these days. Whether or not he ever thinks the same things, I'll never know unless he comes out one day and tells me. His nightmares wake me up when he mutters in Dutch and German, thrashing around to try and grab onto something for safety.

Russia doesn't care about me now a days. I don't... think he does, at least. But it's painful to think what if I'd fallen in love with another, another _nation,_ another _man,_ another non-communist during the Soviet era...

Too many questions and I hope they're never answered.

**VI**

"I wish it'd snow already."

He's watching me carefully, his chin on my sternum as he hands stroke up and down my arms. I can't stay still hardly, wriggling around in the bed with a small frown as I stare out the window. It's already been snowing in Tallinn, and my body craves that Amsterdam be covered in the same icy frost. With red-rimmed eyes, he tilts his head down and nuzzles against my bare chest, probably sparing a glance to the window as well.

"It'll come before you know it."

I look at him like a little kid enchanted, and he nods with certainty at his own words. "And if it doesn't snow before the week's out, can we go to Tallinn?" It's a long way to travel just to see some snow, and perhaps I'm being a bit silly about it, but seeing snow and being able to touch it to me is such an amazing thing. As a little nation, it always mystified me even.

Nodding again to agree, I know he's probably just doing so because he knows that it'll end up snowing probably by tomorrow.

It'd be all the comforts of home.

**VII**

It was such a dizzying array of reds and magenta, golden yellows, splashes of orange and long wispy stems of celadon and viridian all in front of the most breathtaking sky of azure and light blue. My jaw actually drops as I stare at the artwork, the long and curvy ash grey signature being none other than his initials.

"...I didn't know you could paint."

Tearing my gaze away from the large canvas, I look at him just as he turns. The long, thin paintbrush I assume he used to sign it with is still in his hand, another brush dipped in taupe paint sideways in his mouth. The tubes of paint around him, rolled and almost used up give their vibrant shades all over his shirt.

"...Sometimes."

The paintbrush falls from his lips and he looks down, while I make a beeline for the easel. I've never seen a prettier field of tulips, not even all around his country. He usually keeps this room of his home locked and it's the first time I've been in it so I try to take it all in. There's even the most breathtaking cityscape of Tallinn.

"...Sometimes?"

"Sometimes."

**VIII**

For some reason he suggested we spend Christmas with our families together. It's amusing to see how his sister gets along with my brother's Polish partner, and comical how my smallest brother is so afraid of him and trembles. His Luxembourgian sibling even makes small talk with my older brother while cooking lovely roasted poultry and accompaniments, trying to encompass everyone's own traditions.

It feels so natural to all be together, like everything a real Christmas is supposed to represent. There's even snow outside, and I can't help but smile so much. I can even see him crack a smile once in a while too.

All of it combined together is what makes me eventually excuse myself, heading outside to wander down the quiet and dark street. The further I walk the scarcer lights get, until finding a park. I take a seat on a bench with a sigh.

I can't remember feeling so much like I belonged to a family since I was a little kid.

Before I know it, there's tears running down my face. It's horrible and stupid but I've never felt so many things and it's just outright confusing.

I never really liked Christmas before anyways.

**IX**

There's blood steadily dripping from his nose, and he has the most sour expression. His shirt is torn at, and even his knuckles are bruised. Biting on my bottom lip I grab his arm, trying to tug him over to sit down. He looks like a mess, his hair dipping down onto his forehead and blood spotting his shirt.

"What happened?"

He jerks at my touch, obviously not calmed down yet. It takes a bit of struggling before I can convince him to sit down on the couch, and I grab a handkerchief from my pocket to press against his probably broken nose.

"Just some fucking... God dammit, they were such fucking idiots, they deserved a fucking lot more than... fuck..."

The white cloth is quickly soaking up the blood and I frown, trying to comfort him with my other hand by stroking his arm. When he closes his eyes, I feel a dull ache in my heart for him.

"...They said this country's going to shit... God... _Fuck_ them..."

The true bane of every nation is hearing when people criticize us. It's a personal insult. I suppose he found one way to deal with it though...

**X**

For us, a year is about as useful as a measurement of time as a centisecond is to every day use. When something monumental happens even in a year, we'll look back on it eventually as if it was just a day. Fond and miserable memories all blur together eventually.

So when he wishes me a happy birthday, which wouldn't mean a thing without him being around... I thank him and mean it.

"It's _your_ birthday. You shouldn't be thanking me..."

There's so many things that I wish I could say sometimes. How he slows down time for me, lets me appreciate everything around me, how I've never felt that I've had a fuller life before him.

"I want to."

Somehow I can't say any of it. My throat wants to close up. The only thing that I can hope is that he understands what I mean every time I look and smile at him, how I feel every time I touch him. I haven't even felt so sentimental until his sister told me that he must not of painted for the past century, until around the time we got together.

The little unspoken things meant the most.


	5. Spring Again

Well, I did it, eh? Can't really say much at the moment or ramble, because I'm making myself late for class by writing this even now. Hmnnn.

10 drabbles, 200 words each, this time in the Netherlands' point of view. Hope everyone enjoys the NedEstNed love.

* * *

**I**

Sometimes—read, 'all the time', I don't know why he stays. He doesn't bat an eye anymore when I pull out a joint or a little square laced with LSD, not even shrugging when I light it up or slip it under my tongue. He listens to everything, so intently and with kind interest in his eyes, even if whatever it is certainly must not interest him. He pretends to be nice to everyone, even his worst enemies. There's so much to him that people don't understand by just scratching the surface, and it's taken me years to understand him.

Behind his blue-green eyes, there's secrets and desires that never pass by his lips.

There's just the right amount of mystery to him that I fell for him, pretty hard and pretty damn fast. All I even know anymore for sure is that I want to stay with him until I know every single last thing there is to know about him, and when he smirks at me, just ever so subtly...

I get the feeling that we'll be together forever because there's no way he'll tell so easily.

It's sort of too fucking sentimental though, really.

See if I care.

**II**

It's only becoming slightly unfrozen outside now, and we're inside together and he's pestering me relentlessly. Since he found out I can paint, he asks over and over for something he can have and keep. With a sweet smile on his face he looks at me and asks again for the umpteenth time, while trailing fingers on my forearm.

I give a drawn out sigh before finally nodding. Making sure he notices that he's bothering me he backs off, but not before he places a quick kiss on my cheek.

"Today?" He's a bit too happy.

"Not today. I'll paint you something when I'm ready to."

He mumbles something that I can't hear and curls up beside me, and I lean over him to try and figure out what he's reading. It's about Dutch painters, and I'm unsure as to _why_ he likes them so much. Maybe I just always took being surrounded by art for granted, or maybe it was because I've dragged him to the Rijksmuseum a bit too much since I thought he'd like it, being the intellectual he is.

I'd paint him something if I could, but for him, nothing would be perfect enough.

**III**

One week. All he had to do was speak Dutch for one week, and if he could pull it off without any English then I'd speak Estonian for our whole Estonian trip. I was almost sure he'd fail, and I hoped hat he would, because my Estonian was terrible.

No matter what I did to try and trip him up, he found a way out of it.

Almost ready to admit defeat the last day, I had sulked around all day with a book. When I noticed that he was getting ready to go out somewhere, I took notice. He wasn't getting out of it just because he was leaving the house.

"Where are you going?"

Trying to catch him off guard, he looked over at me.

"...Ik moet de hoer betalen."

If I'd been taking a drink, it would have been all over the floor now. My mouth opened as I stared, in turn, he raised an eyebrow.

"...What!"

"...W-wat?..."

"...You're going to pay a whore?"

"..T-the rent! I'm going to pay the rent!"

"...De huur!"

"...What did I say?"

"The whore."

He gave a far off shocked stare.

It was only a second before I burst out laughing.

**IV**

Living with eachother wasn't much of a vacation. We still needed some time away from our homes, and a nice lake house out of the country was perfect. We hadn't done much but wander around the land—nobody was around this time of year, it was just barely warm enough.

I'd finally gotten to sleep before after tossing and turning for a while. When I opened my eyes again, it was because of a loud splashing noise from outside. My eyelids were heavy and it was hard to get back up, but I managed to sit up in bed and realize that he wasn't beside me like he'd been when I fell asleep.

It took me a while to trudge outside, but the moon was full and it was easy enough to see, the stars reflecting over the lake.

Then when I saw him, I wasn't too surprised. Enjoying a swim at two in the morning must have been some weird northern tradition, but I wandered down to the side of the lake.

"Eduard?"

I can hear him swim, and soon he's close enough to me to stand up.

"...Why aren't you wearing any clothes?"

"Why are you?"

**V**

There's very few times when he ever appears grumpy, but when he does, it always seems like something serious is up. He came in the door rubbing his forehead and grimacing, bags of groceries from Albert Heijn danging at his elbows. Even though I set down my paperwork when he comes in the door, he pushes past me into the kitchen.

"How did everything go?"

"I couldn't find the damn rye flour." He mutters and places the bags on the counter, while I get up from my seat to go join him. I stand behind him and he appears antsy, not bothering to take anything out of the bags before turning toward me.

"You seem upset."

"I have a fucking headache, do you mind?"

Curse words really don't sound right coming from his lips, but I know he's only doing it because he's agitated about something.

"Long day?"

My hands meet his shoulders and I rub gently, noticing hat he's squinting at the light.

"Maybe."

"Headache?"

He relaxes, closing his eyes and sighing. "Go lay down, I'll take care of this."

I press a kiss to his forehead and he thanks me.

**VI**

"Armastus... what is this?"

I glanced up from my coffee to look over at him, raising an eyebrow at the instrument he held in his hands.

"Flessenlikker."

"...Try that again, please?"

He brings the little plastic kitchen tool over to me, and rests his chin on top of my head as he hands it down to me. I set my coffee cup down, taking the bottle scraper in my hand while trying to glance upward at him.

"See, you hold it like this." I demonstrated for him an improper hold, finding it easy to conceal a grin. "Then you can shove it into somebody's eye, twist it around..."

The look of fear on his face amused me, and I kept on going with my description.

"And it allows you to pull out somebody's eye slowly without much effort. Makes torture fun."

I twisted it around just for amusement, but he immediately let go of me.

"So, you normally keep torture devices with your silverware?..."

Picking my coffee back up, I nodded casually. He looked uneasy the rest of the day, and I decided to buy some vla later to show him the truth.

**VII**

They're best in fields when they're as far as the eye can see. The reds, pinks, yellows, whites, purples... It's the perfect time for them and they're at their peak, and I'd have to admit that it pains me a bit with each one that I pick.

I continue until I have a bundle of them, taking care of them and holding them carefully. Tulips are such a delicate flower, and I didn't want to bruise them. Not today.

It was just my luck that on the way home it began to rain, but I just kept on my way.

When I finally made it back, I couldn't help but to grunt at the soaked state of my clothes and self. But that was just life, and there were bigger things at hand here than some wet flowers.

He was sitting on the couch as usual, laptop nestled in his lap, and I vaguely smiled as I approached him. Wandering up to him, he pushed aside the laptop and stood. I met him eagerly, offering the flowers and pulling him close.

"Happy six years."

I smiled more as he wrapped his arms around my neck and kissed him deeply.

**VIII**

"We came out here to watch the sunrise."

He doesn't even look up from his cellphone, still tapping away at some virtual keyboard without a care to look up at the sky or at me.

"Yeah. I know, I'll be done in a few minutes."

It's hard to have lover addicted to technology like he is, but I try to nudge him again in his arm and get him to look up. The sky is already turning a light orange shade, it won't be much longer before the sun creeps over the horizon of the ocean.

"In a few minutes you won't be able to see it. Come on."

"Just a minute, then, I'm doing something..."

"Put the phone up."

"But what if somebody calls?"

"Nobody's going to call."

"What about SMS? E-mail?"

"The world isn't going to end if you just put it down."

Just to elaborate my point, I pluck the phone from his hand and set it away from him. He looks at me helplessly, and I try and make him face the sky even though he grabs for his phone.

"Just ten minutes, okay?"

"...Fine."

**IX**

When we go out in public together, I think people get the wrong ideas.

Two men holding hands and walking down the street isn't too much of an unusual thing. Hell, I don't know what they think really. But when they see Eduard with his glasses and tie that he refuses to go without, usually a laptop case at his side, and then me...

I'd be the first to say it. He looks like a nerd.

So immediately people assume they understand the dynamics of our relationship. I don't think that they could understand his silver tongue or his sharp wit, but that isn't the half of it. He has a dominant streak that could rival mine, quite evident as he grabs my bangs and pushes my head back against the bed.

First time I saw the domineering stare was in 2004, when he joined the EU and looked at Russia with the same look. He nips and bites at my neck, and I just let out a groan and let him do whatever the hell he wants. It's nice to have the trust with someone, to let someone _else_ be in control.

More amazing since nobody would expect it.

**X**

"You're not going to pack more drugs, are you?"

"No. Even though it's _cheaper_ here."

"You have everything, right?"

"Of course."

He's a bit neurotic when it comes to packing, making sure that we have everything. I know what I'm doing, this isn't a new occurrence or anything... Summer in Tallinn is hot, though. It's hot and sticky and by the time we get ready to leave in autumn, the rain will be threatening to turn into snow each time it falls.

The weather is just more dramatic there, there's more luggage that needs to be packed. Over the years, the amount has gone down since they've started to cease being each other's homes, but_ our_ homes.

Sentimental drivel once again, but I continue folding tank tops and sweaters into my baggage.

"And you mailed off the paperwork yesterday, right?"

"It should be arriving just after we do."

"So I guess that's everything." He looks around, a bit proud of himself, and I roll my eyes. He just smirks and leans in for a kiss.

"And you have the tickets, right?"

A pause.

"...I thought you were getting them."

"...Great."

* * *

2 - the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam is basically a national museum.

3 - Dutch is an amazing language. 'Ik moet de hoer betalen' means 'I'm going to pay the whore', while 'Ik moet de huur betalen' means 'I'm going to pay the rent'. Yes. When I heard about this, I knew immediately it needed to be a drabble.

4 - flessenlikker. a common Dutch kitchen tool used to scrap things out of bottles, which seems like it'd be extremely handy but what the hell, share with the rest of the world, Netherlands D: *wants one*. really though, just search on wikipedia for 'bottle scraper'. they look mildly menacing.

5 - Albert Heijn is a grocery chain in the Netherlands. Dunno about the availability of rye, (perhaps they were just out of stock) but it seems Estonia would be quite serious about his rye.

6. 'Armastus' means 'love' in Estonian. I really need better Estonian petnames...


End file.
